


Vivid Sunlight

by januarywren



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire & Related Fandoms, A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Rhaegar Won, BAMF Jon Snow, Breeding, Canon Rewrite, Childhood Friends, Childhood Memories, Courtship, Cousin Incest, Dark Jon Snow, Declarations Of Love, Doggy Style, Domestic Fluff, Dragon Riders, Dragonstone, Drama & Romance, Dysfunctional Relationships, Enthusiastic Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Friends to Lovers, House Targaryen, Hurt/Comfort, Implied Jon Snow/Sansa Stark, Jon Snow Knows Something, Jon Snow and Sansa Stark are Cousins, Jon Snow is a Targaryen, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark Smut, King's Landing, Light Angst, Light Dom/sub, Married Life, Minor Elia Martell/Rhaegar Targaryen, Minor Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Older Man/Younger Woman, Oral Sex, POV Sansa Stark, Past Lyanna Stark/Rhaegar Targaryen, Penis In Vagina Sex, Political Jon Snow, Politics, Porn with Feelings, Possessive Behavior, Pregnancy, Protective Jon Snow, Protectiveness, Queen Elia Martell, R Plus L Equals J, Romance, Romantic Fluff, Sansa Stark Deserves Better, Sansa Stark is a Targaryen, Shameless Smut, Smut, The Red Keep (ASoIaF), Tooth-Rotting Fluff, True Love, Vaginal Sex, Warg Jon Snow, Wargs (ASoIaF)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-20
Updated: 2021-01-07
Packaged: 2021-03-09 00:55:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,212
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27115729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/januarywren/pseuds/januarywren
Summary: “My Lord?”Sansa hid her smile as her husband mumbled in his sleep. She had learned early in their marriage that her husband was never one to awaken early, regardless of how recklessly he challenged the court during the day, or passionately made love to her during the night. He cherished his sleep – almost as much as he cherished her, or Ghost.Chastely she kissed his chest, before trailing kisses up his collarbone, and his neck. She kissed the curve of his jaw and the pink tip of his nose. He was perfect to her, her tongue darting out to lick his nose. On the eve of their engagement, he’d told her that she had lips that were made to kiss; words that she longed to repeat to him.Only he’d said more –“You have lips made for kissing, my Lady,” Jon whispered, “A body made to worship, and a soul made for love.”He’d made her feel wanted when she’d felt as low as the beggars that crowded outside the Red Keep. He saw her as she was; a girl on the cusp of womanhood, with stars in her eyes and nothing to her name.Rhaegar Won AU | Every Princess needed a dragon of their own.
Relationships: Jon Snow & Sansa Stark, Jon Snow/Sansa Stark
Comments: 48
Kudos: 376





	1. I

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Janina](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Janina/gifts), [IHeartBadGuys](https://archiveofourown.org/users/IHeartBadGuys/gifts), [Redbirdblackdog](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Redbirdblackdog/gifts), [lyrawinter](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lyrawinter/gifts), [ThePlagueBeast](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThePlagueBeast/gifts), [ineedminions](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ineedminions/gifts).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I adored writing this - 
> 
> Almost as much as I adore Janina's work. :) They're passionate yet sweet and utterly incredible, no matter the plot or pairing involved. I love their work so, so very much and encourage anyone who thinks Sansa deserved more to read their work! 
> 
> Without their stories, I would have never fallen in love with jonsa and robbsa (and sansan too), nor like GoT fanfiction as much as I do. Thank you for sharing your work on ao3, Janina, and please never stop (!!). 
> 
> And thank you to everyone who supports my work. You're all kinder than I ever imagined, and the reception my writing has found makes me incredibly happy, along with the friends I've met here as well. I hope that you enjoy this fic, thank you all for reading! 💗🦕

“My Lord?”

Sansa hid her smile as her husband mumbled in his sleep. She had learned early in their marriage that her husband was never one to awaken early, regardless of how recklessly he challenged the court during the day, or passionately made love to her during the night. He cherished his sleep – almost as much as he cherished her, or Ghost.

Chastely she kissed his chest, before trailing kisses up his collarbone, and his neck. She kissed the curve of his jaw and the pink tip of his nose. He was perfect to her, her tongue darting out to lick his nose. On the eve of their engagement, he’d told her that she had lips that were made to kiss; words that she longed to repeat to him.

Only he’d said more –

“ _You have lips made for kissing, my Lady_ ,” Jon whispered, “ _A body made to worship, and a soul made for love_.”

He’d made her feel wanted when she’d felt as low as the beggars that crowded outside the Red Keep. He saw her as she was; a girl on the cusp of womanhood, with stars in her eyes and nothing to her name. She hadn’t known, then, that Jon truly meant to uphold their childhood betrothal; one made before the fall of her father, and the ruin of Winterfell.

Others were favored over her; the Tyrell Rose, the Sand Vipers, and countless other brides that would bring a fine dowry with them. Sansa had little to give beyond the blood that flowed through her veins, the same blood that kings and queens shared for thousands of years. Yet she had few lands, nor childhood home, nor coffers that overflowed with gold. Her dowry mattered to Rhaegar and the whole of King’s Landing, where it mattered not at all to Jon.

_“You’re the one that I live for, Sansa.”_

Sansa hoped that she made him feel wanted, every day that he breathed, the same as he made, she. “My Dragon?” she teased, brushing her lips against his furrowed brow.

She squeaked in surprise when he grasped her waist with his hands and pulled her astride him. He made her feel safe and small, the same as when he wrapped his cloak around her. She meant her vows and was learning that he meant his too. He was her dragon, the only one that she could trust beyond reason.

His dark eyes met hers, his lips curling into a lazy smile. “What wish may I grant for you, my Lady?” he asked, his husky tone making her blush.

"I was thinking," Sansa leaned forward, her fire kissed hair cascading around him. It was as if they were in their private world then, with servants barred from their wing, and his father kept far away. It was their favorite dream, one that they yearned to make into reality. "What if we left for Dragonstone earlier than planned?"

Tilting his head to the side, Jon regarded her solemnly. It was a look that he often took during balls and fetes, where others lost themselves to merriment, often revealing their hand. Many thought the prince was brooding with his formal heir and sulky look, though Sansa knew better.

Far, far better.

She cradled his cheeks in her hands and brushed her thumb against his bottom lip. “Please?”

“Tell me why,” Jon replied, his gaze softening.

Sansa knew the rules of their marriage as few and as generous as they were. They were faithful and loyal to one another first; a matter that was eased by the utter loss of her family, and how he reviled his.

Her Dragon was raised as the second son, one begotten from an unpopular marriage that shamed the royal family. There was dissension in the streets and a constant stream of rumors that came from the Red Keep.

_Lyanna wore breeches under her gowns, ensuring she could ride when she wished –_

(“Will she ride a horse, or our dragon?” the courtiers jeered.)

_Lyanna wanted more than to sew, gossip with her ladies, and dream of the heir she would deliver. She wanted more than Elia Martell had ever asked for; as if Rhaegar’s first wife was a pretty ornament, one made of tin and ribbon, without value._

(“I wish for the world to know us both,” Lyanna whispered, her hands cradling her husband’s face. “As we are, my love. Let the world see our faces, and our hearts, as they never have before.”)

_With gowns spun from stardust and a hawk perched on her shoulder, Lyanna attended council meetings. She met the eye of every advisor with a smile on her lips and dreams in her eyes; ones that whispered more, more, more._

_For like a child, the one that Rhaegar was and recognized her to be, nothing was enough._

_Lyanna wanted to take to the skies and ride the same dragon her husband did while their enemies wept beneath them._

_Lyanna wanted a crown with dire wolves and a throne placed next to her husband’s. Lyanna wanted to be his equal and have the Red Keep lay at their feet, without ever knowing Flea Bottom and the children that begged there, or how the merchants suffered from the loss of an alliance with Dorne._

(“The world will love us,” Rhaegar murmured, brushing his nose against hers. She was the only one he loved, the only one that he had ever loved, “Our image will last for an eternity, Lyanna Targaryen.”)

Only their dreams weren’t enough, as their people suffered from their love, their selfish, beautiful love.

Elia was the queen the people wanted, the one who came to their aid with a soothing word and pressed a coin into their hand. In her silks and her finery, she knew what her husband and his second wife would never know: royalty lived for their people, not for themselves.

Their lives weren’t their own, the same as their dreams were beyond them. It was very well to believe they were gods reborn into man – yet they bled the same as every commoner and greedy merchant. It was a lesson that Lyanna refused to learn, and a truth that Rhaegar would never accept.

_Nothing in the world was their own, whether in Dorne or King’s Landing._

Less than two years after marrying Rhaegar and the birth of their son, Lyanna found her life wanting. There were too many restraints, too many rules that kept her wild spirit confined. She wanted to return to the North. Her home, her true home, with her child at her side. Rhaegar had refused, and Lyanna proved the reckless and wild spirit that he loved: she fled.

The aftermath was a period few wished to remember, as the North and the South became utterly divided. The North clamored for war, alongside the Baratheons, where its heir declared himself Lyanna’s knight. (They were words that Rhaegar never forgot, as Robert Baratheon later hung from the Red Keep, dressed in ill-fitting armor)

The years that followed were uneasy and violent, with more than one great house mourning the loss of its men. Ned Stark fell during battle, with his son, Robb beside him. Nor did Lyanna return to her husband, ending her life by her hand instead. And in the end, Rhaegar secured only one, true victory: Sansa Stark. For in a failed overture to make peace, Rhaegar claimed the Stark's newly born child; one who was near the same age as her cousin, Jon.

“ _They are betrothed, are they not_?” Rhaegar teased his stone-faced councilors. “ _Why should they not be raised together? It can only foster a close and **pleasant** union_.” It was a betrothal made before the war, one when the Starks filled Winterfell and Lyanna stood proud by Rhaegar’s side.

In the Red Keep the children occupied the same wing, one set away from Rhaegar’s first family: Elia Martell and their son, Aegon. In ill-kept rooms and ignored by governesses, Sansa quickly grew close to her cousin. “ _My Dragon_ ,” she called him, unable to properly say his name, “ _’Jaehaerys’._

They were never far from the other’s company, as she said her first words in his presence, and they learned to walk while hand-in-hand with one another. They knew the other’s hopes and their fears, and the nightmares that haunted them at night. They took their lessons together and ate together (with Jon saving scraps to make the lemon cakes that Sansa loved), as they were ignored by their caretakers, as well as the court.

Few courtiers thought to visit the children, as they followed Rhaegar's lead instead. Elia was the wife he returned to as if she were his first choice, his first love, his _only_ love. Indeed, the few times that Jon was summoned before the court often ended in disaster, with Rhaegar thrown into cold fits of rage. Jon had the eyes of his mother, whose name was struck from court record and every courtier's mind.

Lyanna Stark was never wife nor love to Rhaegar. There was only Elia Martell, and an alliance with Dorne, a kingdom that was graced by the warmth of the sun, and not the cold winds of the North.

“We…” Sansa hesitated, sinking her teeth into her bottom lip. “We’re so very watched here, my love.” She moved to rest her cheek against his bare chest, comforted by the warmth that radiated from him. When she was away from her husband, she never felt warm; even with their dire wolves, Ghost and Lady, beside her. “I feel as if we may never breathe, let alone speak outside these chambers.”

“Aye,” he agreed.

There was always someone waiting for when they would falter; their every move and word reported to Rhaegar. Nor was the king the only one to watch them, as there were members of the court they would never trust; Petyr Baelish, the Master of Coin, and Varys, the Master of Whisperers, who employed little birds. And there was Rhaegar's so-called pet, the Mountain, who served him as a hunting bitch served its master. One of Sansa’s personal guard was Sandor Clegane, the brother of the Mountain, whose face was ruined because of him.

No matter what they did, they knew they couldn’t charm every courtier, nor bring them into their trusted circle. There was corruption they would never change and couldn’t if they tried. Sansa wasn’t able to protect her handmaiden, Shae, who was raped by one of Rhaegar's elite guards; though Jon beat him to a bloody mess after the man retired to his chambers. 

“It will only worsen as the court waits for news of a child,” Sansa continued, her eyes fluttering closed as she felt his hand stroke the small of her back. He always touched her with reverence and love, whether they made love in bed, or if she bent over his desk, and he fucked her from behind. “We’re the only ones left.”

“I know.”

“We have to give them something.”

It was the truth, as much as they wished it weren’t.

The loss of Jon’s half-brother was one none had anticipated. Aegon, as charming and unpredictable as his father was as a youth, had always taken risks with his dragon. He rode harder and faster than Jon, or even Rhaegar, and often soared to incredible heights, ones that left little chance of survival after he tumbled free, while mid-flight.

There was little of him left to bury, and nothing to send back to Dorne, where his mother was. She passed delivering a daughter; one that was useless, and stillborn. With his first family gone, Rhaegar called for his second.

His last, and only family members: Lady Sansa and her Dragon.

“Do you remember what I told you?”

She did, she always did.

It was the reason why she could hold her head high, and still her trembling hands when she was called to pretend. The court wasn’t her home, nor was it Jon’s, but she had to pretend. She tittered and pleased during the sewing circle she led, when the ladies around her gossiped and dreamed of children, and matches made for love. She remembered every name and every face, as well as name days, death days, and every celebration in-between. She remembered strained loyalties and firm alliances and made every friend that she could.

Nor was Jon spared from playing pretend, as he spent hours in the training yard, learning to joust and ride better than anyone else could. He attended council meetings and listened to the same petitions that his father ignored. He was brave and fearless where his wife was charming and sweet, and they found themselves drowning in invitations and gifts and offers to become godparents to numerous, aristocratic children.

It was their way to safety, their way for Rhaegar to never consider parting them. They had little safety while he reigned, but with every friend they made, they knew they had another voice to defend them, another person to spare them from Rhaegar’s madness. Rhaegar was far from the king the people wanted, after he lost Dorne’s support, and turned his face away from his people. He saw few outside of the court, he rarely left his rooms, and he allowed his dragon to act as it wished to. He was the opposite of a dutiful king, an understanding king, and where he faltered, Jon and Sansa led. They would never be free, nor would their position be secure, yet they did everything they could.

They had to.

“You said you would protect me,” Sansa murmured, slowly parting her thighs. She felt his stiffening member press against her small clothes, and she ached to feel him inside her. She often dreamed of their love making; when he would leave her gasping and _full_ , with his hands grasping her teats and his lips claiming hers. “Love me.”

“No matter what,” Jon finished. “I swore an oath to my father to obey and follow his will.”

It was one among many lies that he’d told, something he thought unimaginable as a child. Lost in the stories their Septa told, Jon wanted to be like the knights from her stories. He wanted to be brave and kind and gentle, someone that never lied. He spilled lies every day that he lived, whether he was on the battlefield or in the Great Hall.

_A fool’s dream_ –

Jon groaned as Sansa rocked her hips against his. “I lied then,” he said, “just as I lie to the world now.”

Rhaegar thought they would be pliant and obedient as if they feared his will as much as other courtiers did. They had, once, before Jon found he could control his dragon, as well as his father's. It was a secret he held in his heart, one that cuddled close to his feelings for his wife. He would never give her up, even if Westeros burned because of it.

Perhaps he was more like Rhaegar than he thought.

“You’re the only one I’ve never lied to,” Jon said without hesitation, “Nothing will change that. No one will.”

Sansa keened at the feel of him, knowing his cock more than she knew the feel of her fingers inside her. She pushed her small clothes aside and tugged his pants down. His cock sprang free, and Sansa keened at the sight. “The child you bear will be ours,” Jon continued, allowing her to touch him as she wished. “And ours alone.”

They both moaned as she sank on to his member and began to ride him. He was her home, the same as she was his; for never had they known anyone but the other. Nor had they wanted to after his rise at court, with Jon named Rhaegar's heir, and Sansa's position uncertain until Jon had declared he would marry her.

He wanted no one else – he had never even _considered_ someone else.

He wouldn’t.

And Rhaegar caved, after weeks of threats and admonishments that Jon had refused to bend to. They were married in the Great Sept with his dragon flying overhead, its pleased cries making the court shudder. And Sansa –

Sansa had tossed her head back and laughed with delight.

It was a sound that meant the world to him, a sound that he wanted to hear without end. He wanted everything that Sansa had to give, and even then, he wanted more from her. She was his past, his present, and his future, and he knew she felt the same toward him. Theirs was more than a love match, for she was the other half of his soul; one who meant more than any heiress.

“Rhaegar will never allow it.”

“He will.” Jon breathed, as his wife drew his cock inside her.

When Sansa whispered that she’d missed her moon’s blood, Jon knew he had to take her away from his father’s reach. He would never allow their babe to be ripped from her arms, nor become the image of Rhaegar.

They planned to retire to Dragonstone shortly before she began to show, where they could make love freely, and plan for their future. In the time before, Sansa drew a knife across her palm and dripped blood over their sheets for their maids to find. It was a secret shared between them; a secret that drew them closer than anything else could.

"If Rhaegar finds his dragon will not yield to his will, he will falter."

And then –

Rhaegar could fall.

Rhaegar could die. Rhaegar _would_ die, for he had far fewer allies than he did enemies. 

The whole of Westeros was hungry for change, and Jon knew he wouldn’t have to become a kinslayer to create it. Nor would Sansa have to give up their child, as they knew Rhaegar would never allow them to raise it. He wanted an heir that he could mold, one that he could control without question.

Her hands clutched his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin.

She wanted to ride him hard and fast, craving the feel of his spend inside her. From their first night together, she’d dreamed of the children they would have, ones with Tully blue eyes and a nature that took after Jon’s. She wanted a family with him, a life that would never end, where they could be happy without Rhaegar. They would have it, no matter what they had to do.

“My Dragon,” Sansa whispered, “My King.”

“My love.”

Drawn together, they would never part.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.journoportfolio.com/ 🌹
> 
> https://januarywren.tumblr.com/ 🌹
> 
> and ask for me my discord! 🌹
> 
> Beta'd by Grammarly, Redbirdblackdog, and Simon, thank you so much! 🦝🖤


	2. II

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Only a couple days into 2021...
> 
> ...and I think we could all use some fluff and smut. 🌼🤍
> 
> Thank you for supporting my work, your comments, kudos, bookmarks, etc. mean the world to me. They inspire me to write and share my work with you all in ways I never thought possible - I truly can't thank you enough! -:)

“By the gods, you’re perfect,” Jon breathed, as he sank into his lover’s lush heat.

_Sansa_ –

She was his other half, the only one he would ever love.

She mewled as he covered her small frame with his own, resting his weight against her. “D-Don’t tease me, Jon,” Sansa said. “I want to feel you – “

“You will,” Jon promised, lavishing kisses across her shoulder blades. “I’m yours, sweetheart, all yours.”

He set a brutal pace as he snapped his hips against hers, his cock thrust deep inside her. Her hands scrambled to hold on to the sheets, every thrust sending her forward. She was so much smaller than he, it was a wonder she could take him at all; her wet folds soaking his cock.

She was all that he could think of; her slick cunt and the softness of her skin all that he could feel. And gods, her sweet moans –

They were enough to drive any creature mad.

If Rhaegar saw them, he would know without question that Jon was his son. Ever since their flight to Dragonstone, Jon was insatiable for his wife, for her body and her love. There wasn't a surface that he hadn't made love to her on, nor any corner that he hadn't pinned her against, ravishing her with greedy kisses and a hardened cock.

She was the only one who would know the feel of his touch, as his hands cupped her swollen breasts, and his fingers kneaded her sensitive teats. The aroma of milk clung to her as her pregnancy furthered, her body becoming supple and full until Jon found he was reluctant to share her with another, even his own child.

She called to him as no other had and he often followed her to wherever she wanted to go.

“ _My place is by your side_ ,” Sansa had once told him, and he’d never stopped marveling at her words. He knew what it was like to be unwanted and unneeded as he lived in his brother’s shadow. Dreams were reserved for heirs, never for the spares –

Yet Jon found his dreams came to life when he held Sansa in his arms.

Everything was right then, no, everything was more than right. The world was more than Jon had ever imagined it could be, as he cherished his wife’s company. He found that nothing was the same with Sansa, as he delighted in things he never had before. He often lay with his head in her lap, listening to her read poetry or fiddled with her flute, composing songs of beautiful maidens and the knights that swore their lives to them.

There were other, idyllic times when they roamed the walled gardens that surrounded Dragonstone and watched the ravens that soared above. “ _They’re free in ways that we’ll never be_ ,” Sansa murmured, while Jon took her gloved hand in his.

“ _Things won’t always be this way_ ,” he promised, his hand squeezing hers, “ _I swear to you, my love_.”

For as long as his father lived, he couldn’t give her the world.

He could only give her this: a smaller court at Dragonstone when they were free from the constant intrigue and uncertainty that thrived amidst the Red Keep. They would never have peace there, and Jon loathed that he and his love had ever been forced to live there.

His father’s sneer haunted his dreams, the same as the cries of his mother, and the end she met did. His parents were selfish creatures, ones that he wanted to be more than, if only for Sansa. She deserved more than a legacy of madness and chaos, one that was hallmarked by utmost selfishness. It was the same path his brother, Aegon, had begun to follow before his death, and Jon saw the same traits in himself.

He wanted to hide his wife and their oncoming family away from the world, in a place where no one would find them, and no one could ever intrude.

“ _You know nothing, Jon Snow_.”

His brother had once told him that when Aegon realized how he felt toward his childhood friend. There would be no future with her, Aegon sneered, there would be nothing for them at all. They all had their places in Rhaegar’s court, and their obedience was required above all.

When had Jon ever listened?

Sansa was the girl that he’d cherished, and the woman that he loved. He wanted to worship at her feet, before taking her on her hands and her knees, breeding her without end. Her cries made him come alive, and he felt more in her arms than he felt in the whole of his life.

He wanted her.

He needed her.

He _lived_ for her, and her alone.

He had her in his bed as he fucked her without end, drawing countless orgasms from her. Her cries of delight were his sanctuary, as he buried his face between her legs and allowed her to grind her cunt against his face, for her pleasure. He knew how she liked to be edged, his tongue drawing his name between her folds until her fingers pulled at his hair, and her thighs tightened around his head. She always wanted more, crying when he stopped, though nothing, nothing compared to when he finally allowed her to come.

Then her release was all he could taste, her sugar sweetness thick on his tongue.

And he would swallow it all, the good boy that he was, before licking her clean. His face would be covered in her release and his lips swollen and red, but his love never seemed to mind. For after she had her release, she would tug him up to her, peppering his glistening face with sweet kisses and gentle nips.

There were other times when she nestled against him as they lay, side by side, and mewled at the feel of his fingers buried inside her cunt. He knew her body more than he knew his own, as he memorized her whimpers and her sighs, and the places that made her tremble and thrash in his hold. She liked kisses on her nape and when his hands cupped her sopping cunt after he’d come inside her.

Laying with her was a fantasy come real, one that had long haunted his dreams. Rhaegar had viewed Sansa as a distraction when Jon knew his father was _wrong_. She made him embrace his full potential, as he accepted his mad ancestry, without letting it overcome him. He wanted to find his place in the world, instead of becoming a prince that lived for pleasure, as royals did in Dorne, or one that lived for honor alone, as they did in the North.

He wanted more than to survive the game –

He wanted his _family_ too.

It was why he’d whisked Sansa away to Dragonstone as soon as it was safe to. There, Jon knew they would be protected against the volatile nature of his father and shielded from the court’s hungry gaze. He and Sansa knew how courtiers in the Red Keep watched every move they made, listening to every comment, and pouring over their thoughts, regardless whether they were profound or mundane. Their position was uncertain with Aegon’s death, as Rhaegar was equally able to name Jon his heir, or execute him for treason –

Perceived or real.

'I won't let anyone hurt you,' Jon had promised his love, and it was a promise he intended to keep. He knew that if his position fell, there would be little security for Sansa or the child she carried.

Who would be her friend – her ally – then? She would be forbidden to return to the North, unless Rhaegar took their child from her, and married her to a weak southern lord. She would have no ties to King’s Landing, no allies that would support her, and her future would always be at risk. She would never be able to nurse their child nor see them as they aged, and the very thought of it took Jon’s breath away.

He would never expose Sansa to that pain.

_Never_.

There at Dragonstone, Sansa had begun to show; her body becoming supple and full. He'd ordered new dresses made for her; ones that were loose and made from the finest of silks. There were robes trimmed with ermine and skirts adorned with the embroidered motifs that she loved; snarling dire wolves and swirling snowflakes, and winter roses that only grew in the North.

He locked her corsets away after he saw the bruises they left on her skin after her maid had drawn them tighter than before to hide her expanding frame. He wouldn’t have her hide the truth away, not when they were as safe and content as they could be. She could revel in the truth now, he wanted to say, she could cherish the child they made. They could dream of their future, and Jon often did; tracing his finger across an aged map, imagining everywhere they could go. Rhaegar’s influence was weakening, with whispers steadily becoming louder and louder –

His reign wasn't respected across the channel, nor was his reign wanted in every quarter. Some dreamed of lions or stags in the place of dragons, with mockingbirds surveying it all.

Jon dreamed of wolves entwined with dragons as if he could create a new world through love alone. They were the thoughts that Sansa giggled at, before she placed her fingers against his lips while shaking her head. " _Not here, my love_ ,” she’d whisper, fearing eavesdroppers still. They were safe, he wanted to argue, safer than they’d ever been.

He wanted her to look as free as she felt, and if the servants saw the hickeys and love marks that scattered across her skin –

He couldn’t deny the satisfaction he felt.

‘ _She’s mine_ ,’ he wanted to say, ‘ _Sansa Stark is my light, my love, my very life_.’

He knew that his lover would call him a fool if she knew, though her knowing gaze and half-tilted mouth said enough. He could hide nothing from her, nor did he wish to. She was his equal in every sense of the word, and when he knelt before her to massage her aching feet and press gentle kisses against her calves, he wished for the world to know that it was devotion, and devotion alone, that moved him.

“Trust me, sweetheart,” Jon wrapped his arms around her chest, pressing her close against him. His thrusts slowed, deepening as he sank to the hilt inside her. Her breath hitched as he allowed her to feel how well they fit together, her cunt clenching tight about his bulging member. “I’ll always protect you – “

He felt every inch of her and still wanted more.

“Adore you – “

She groaned as he dragged his cock against her walls, her cunt desperately clinging to his shaft. He felt his balls tighten as his release neared. He wanted to stay nestled inside her, pumping her full of his seed, regardless of the babe inside her. They both dreamed of a large family, and Sansa often teased that their children would be only a handful of months apart in age.

“And remain at your side,” Jon murmured, catching his wife’s lips as she glanced back toward him. Their kiss was heated and open-mouthed, their tongues tangling as their release washed over them. Warm and sticky seed poured inside her, an offering that he never wanted to cease.

Careful not to collapse on top of his wife, Jon moved to lay on his side, with his arms wrapped around her still. He remained inside her, unwilling to withdraw until his cock was as soft as her silk nightgown. Sansa shivered in his hold, their combined release trickling down her thighs.

"You mean it, don't you?" she whispered, pink staining her cheeks. It was her sudden innocence that made him ache to hold her closer still, despite the fact he knew what a tease she could be. She'd allowed him to come on her chest and her stomach before and kept it there well past the ball they attended until they retired to their chambers. The sight and knowledge that he'd marked her were one that he held dear, the memory of it enough to take himself in hand when he couldn't have her with him. 

“Every word,” Jon promised, his hands cupping her curved stomach. Their future grew inside her, one that was unpredictable and unsure, yet he knew he would accept it, wherever it took them.

Rhaegar would fall and another would rise, though he would never sacrifice his family for the Iron Throne. “I’ll _never_ abandon you or our child, sweetheart, no matter what happens.”

And she knew his words to be true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Connect with me: https://januarywren.carrd.co/ 🌹
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> Beta'd by Redbirdblackdog and MetalVenomLudens! Thank you both so much for your help! 🦝🖤


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